Firstlife (24 page)

In more ways than one. “Agreed.” I'm not worried about Archer. I know he'll find me. He always does.

Killian exits the car, walks to my door and, his motions jerky, “helps” me out and leads me to the front passenger seat. I buckle in as he takes his place behind the wheel.

We sit in silence...silence that continues as we pass a group of picketers outside a virtual-reality tour facility owned by Myriad. Though there are at least fifty people, and each of them carries a sign, there are two slogans. One reads The Many Are Doomed! The other reads Your Might Isn't Right!

Their efforts are wasted. They aren't going to convince anyone they're a better choice this way. If I were part of Troika, I'd—

What? Try to change this, definitely. But how? I've never really been part of something bigger than myself. Never been on a team or put the good of many over the good of, well, me.

“Are you hungry?” Killian asks me, shattering the quiet.

“Starved, actually.”

He exits the highway and turns into a burger joint and inches along the drive-through line. He orders a hamburger and fries, and the girl who collects his cash gasps.

“Killian.” Her eyes go wide with a combination of shock, hope and anger. “I thought I'd never see you again.”

He stiffens, stares straight ahead.

“How are you?” She looks to me for a moment then yanks her gaze back to Killian. “Who's the girl?”

Finally he deigns to glance in her direction. “Our food?”

Oh, wow. He's cold.

The color drains from her face. She trembles as she hands him a bag with grease stains on the bottom. He accepts and drives on.

“Your kindness brought a tear to my eye,” I say drily. “Is that what's in store for me?”

“I was cruel to be kind.” His fingers clench on the wheel. “And I don't know what's in store for you. I'm in never-before-explored terrain.”

To hide my own trembling, I dig out the burger. “She was once your target, right?”

“You mean assignment. And yes, she was.”

“Did she know you were a Laborer?”

“No.”

“And yet you still managed to sign her.”

“I'm
that
good.”

His favorite reply. I pop a fry into my mouth, swallow. “Did you use your tried and true method of hitting it and quitting it?”

“Yes,” he says with only a slight hesitation. “I slept with her. But unlike your precious James, I didn't tell her I loved her. I've never promised forever.”

Ouch. “But you make girls
hope
for forever, even though you know there's no chance you'll offer it.”

“Just because I haven't offered it doesn't mean I won't sometime in the future. I'll give the right girl
everything
.”

I fight a wave of intense longing. I would love to be the right girl. But only if he's the right boy for me.

Am I? Is he?

“Why did Myriad want Miss Cashier so badly that they sent you, a precious resource? Why did they leave her to a life of drudgery inside a fast-food restaurant after she signed?”

“I don't know.”

“Surely you can guess. You've lived in the realm your entire life, were favored by the King. You know their ways even when they refuse to explain their reasons.”

He works his jaw. “Troika sent a Leader to her, rather than a Laborer, telling us she was singular to them. She turned him down. I swooped in and ensured the realm couldn't have her. And she doesn't need an exceptional Firstlife to do what we need her to do in the Everlife.”

This. This is the boy who first arrived at Prynne. I don't like him. “What do you need her to do?”

“Join our army. Fight for us. Help win the war. But more important, stop her from doing whatever it was Troika wanted her to do.”

How cold. “She didn't strike me as a soldier.”

“But she
is
a voice. One whisper into the ear of another can spark another whisper and another whisper, until the noise is deafening.”

“A numbers game,” I say, lamenting the irony yet again. “Why are people like my dad given so much?”

“Some people—most people—accept our first offer. But others, those who have something we covet, are given preferential treatment. Your father's contract came with very few benefits. It wasn't until you were born that he was offered a new, better deal.”

“A deal that turned a child into a commodity.” My bitterness is showing.

“That reminds me,” he says. “Eighteen years ago, Madame had a daughter, Ashley. A girl who'd been Fused and reborn multiple times already. She was the youngest General at the time, and she'd always wanted a brother. I was irresistible, which is why I was chosen. But she died soon after, and I was returned to the Center.”

My heart hurts for him. How much loss has this boy known?

“You're feeling sorry for me again, aren't you?” There's no upset in his tone, only intrigue.

“Well, you were just a little boy, and you were abandoned. I wish you'd had better.”

He reaches over, takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth. As he kisses my knuckles, a tingling warmth mists over me. “Anyway,” he says after he clears his throat. “I recently discovered Madame thinks
you
are bonded with Ashley.”

Oh, wow. Madame Bennett's personal stake in me makes even more sense. “That's kind of creepy. I mean, how many times have you made a pass at me?”

“I said
she
believes you're bonded with Ashley. I don't. I'm certain you're bonded with one of the other slain Generals.”

“So, how many Generals are there at a given time?”

“Ten.”

“What?”

“Ten.”

“What?” I repeat.

He rolls his eyes. “Ten Generals at a time.”

Ah.
I snort.

“Now eat,” he says. “Keep your strength up.”

“Sure thing...bro.”

He glowers at me. “That's not funny.”

“It kind of is.”

He glowers at me again, but a moment later his eyes go wide. There's flash of light. As I turn, Killian shouts, “Brace—”

Boom!

I'm thrown toward him before I'm thrown in the other direction, only my belt keeping me in my seat. My skull slams against my window, breaking the glass. Pain explodes through my head as different bones shatter. My vision goes dark, my mind an ocean of panic, vibrations from impact causing ripples of misery as I'm tossed upside down again and again until finally landing that way, basically hanging from my belt.

Wake up, Ten. Now!

The words scream through my aching head, the English accent familiar. Archer's back? I blink open my eyes. My vision is no longer black but it's still hazed...until I use a shaky hand to wipe away the blood. No sign of Archer.

Grab the semiautomatic in the console. Turn the safety off, aim and squeeze the trigger.

Irish accent that time. “Killian?” I look, but he's not here, either. However, bits of ash are floating through the car.

Ten! The gun!

Killian's voice again, though his Shell is gone. What happened to the car? To him?

A wreck, I realize as I stare at my crumpled door. We were in a wreck, and he decommissioned his Shell in order to survive and help me.

Two men are up there and both are armed. Take the gun, lass. Leave the car. In it, you're the perfect target.

Danger. Right. I struggle with my belt, but finally manage to unlatch it. I topple and slam into the roof. My shaking intensifies as I pry open the console. A gun falls out, and I swipe it up, careful to keep the barrel aimed anywhere but at me. Cool air blows through the opening where the window used to be, and I crawl through.

Catching my breath seems impossible as I trip forward and catalog my new surroundings—the vehicle has been thrown off the road and into a ravine. In the distance, there's a hill populated with a thick spread of trees. Along the road, shadows are chased away by a car's headlights.

Go!

A command from Archer.

My legs weigh a thousand pounds as I pick up the pace. A car door slams shut, then another. Footsteps sound.

Faster!
Killian demands.

I don't want to leave you, but I must
, Archer says.
Only for a few minutes. I'm returning to Troika to get a Shell and backup. All you have to do is stay alive. Killian—

I won't let her be harmed.

They both sound agonized.

Are the men chasing me Shells? Or human? Does it really matter? Whatever they are, they hope to kill me. And they just might. The odds aren't in my favor. I'm injured, leaving a blood trail, while they're uninjured. I don't know the terrain. They might.

Running won't do me any good. Might even speed up my death. I have to strike now, while I'm still on my feet.

I stop and turn. A wave of dizziness sweeps through me—
nothing new, focus
—as I drop to my stomach. Perfect timing.
Pop! Pop!
Shots fired, a silencer used. I zero in on the direction the men came from and see a shadow headed straight for me. I take aim.

A little to the left, lass.
Killian. He's still with me.

I take comfort from the knowledge as I adjust my aim.

Now!

I squeeze the trigger.

The loud boom causes my ears to ring, and the gun's recoil causes my wrists and shoulders to vibrate. The shadow collapses.

Good girl.

One down. One to go. But where—

The cock of someone else's gun tells me one thing: I don't have time to fire off another shot of my own. Not knowing what else to do, I roll to the side as fast as I can.
Pop! Pop!
A sharp sting in my side makes me hiss. Inhaling deeply, I aim and squeeze the trigger of my gun. My assailant hisses this time, but he merely stumbles back without going down.

When he stills, he raises his gun. I open my mouth to pick a realm at long last—either realm. This is it. The end for me. But two flashes of bright light appear in front of me, and when they fade, bodies are in their place, shielding me.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

One of those bodies jerks, as if hit, and I catch a glimpse of Deacon's rugged features.

Wait. He should be with Sloan.

“The girl is protected.” Archer, the other body, punches the shooter in the arm, sending the gun flying. His next blow is to the man's nose. As a pained bellow cuts through the night, I lurch for the gun. The moment I've got it, I aim both weapons. Archer has the man—a human, judging by the blood trickling down his face—on the ground, a booted foot pressed into his neck.

Deacon wraps a hand around my wrist to force me to lower my arm. “No.”

“That's not our way,” Archer says. “Death isn't the answer. Where there's breath, there's hope.”

“Agree to disagree.” Killian steps from the shadows into a beam of light cast by the car's headlights. He must have returned to Myriad to get a new Shell while Archer and Deacon disarmed the shooters. “They hurt the girl, and I'm not okay with that. They die.”

He lifts a gun of his own and fires.

chapter eighteen

“Without pressure, there would be no diamonds. Without tests and trials, you wouldn't know your own strength—or weaknesses.”

—Troika

My adrenaline crashes in an instant, leaving me to deal with every new injury I've sustained. I drop the gun as my knees buckle, my weight suddenly too much to hold up. Unlike the boys in the Shells, I'm only human.

Before I hit the ground, Killian is there, wrapping his arms around me and cradling me against his chest.

“I've got you,” he whispers.

I rest my head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

“We could have questioned the shooter,” Archer snaps. “He could have told us who's targeting Ten.”

“He could have lied,” Killian snaps back.

Archer takes a step toward him, his body primed for action. “Or you were afraid of what he'd say.”

“I'm not responsible for the attempts on Ten's life.” Each word drips with menace. “I would never—”

“No, but your realm is. You don't want her to know, because you don't want her to align with Troika. Better to end up in Many Ends,” Archer says with a sneer. “Isn't that right?”

“I don't want her in Many Ends. And how many times do I have to say Troika is just as likely to put a hit on—”

“No! You know better, but you'll never admit it, even to yourself. And this is your problem, Killian. This has always been your problem. You want so badly to win, you've become blind to the truth. And I get it. I do. My father told us victors are adored and failures are abhorred, and more than anything you wanted to be adored by someone, anyone.” Archer is shouting so loudly, his voice is echoing from the trees. “Well,
I
adored you.
I
loved you. But you changed, and not for the better. You turned everything into a battle. And even back then, I understood. You'd never had a family, and you craved one, craved unconditional love. But now you have to decide what's more important—your pride, or Ten's life. Because in this instance, you can't have both!”

Never had a family...craved respect, love
. The words echo in my mind as Killian grows so tense I'm almost afraid he'll shatter like glass.

“Enough,” I murmur. “What's done is done and can't be undone.” The dizziness returns with a vengeance, and I moan as my stomach threatens to rebel. “We can only move on from here.”

Silence. Good, that's good.

“Deacon... Is Sloan...?” I say.

“She's fine. She told me to leave her, that I wasn't sufficient eye candy.” I hear the offense in his tone.

I know Sloan. I know she finds the boy intriguing. There has to be more to the story. “Has she reactivated her cell phone?”

“No. Like you, she doesn't want to be traced.”

“I'll have a message sent to her on your behalf.” Killian brushes my cheek with his own, some of the tension draining from him. “Stop worrying about her and start recovering.”

There's command in his voice, but also concern. The concern warms me, because I know he doesn't feel it for everyone. Or often. “Some General I'll be, huh?”

“A General leads and learns. You're golden.”

Archer scrubs a hand down his face. “We have a safe house an hour from—”

“No.” Killian gives a single but violent shake of his head. “I'm taking her with me. We'll see you tomorrow—at her parents' house.”

“No safe house,” I say. “No time.” If my mom dies before I reach her...

“I'll get you there,” Killian vows. “Tomorrow.”

“I can rest in the car as we trav—”

He presses his lips against mine, silencing me, the sweet taste of honey and sugar teasing my tongue. I'm shocked—
want more, need more
—and I'm unable to stop myself from kissing him back, rolling my tongue against his. I forget we have an audience. I forget I'm in pain and bleeding. The world ceases to exist. My head swims...and swims, but it's different from the dizziness, exponentially better.

Lethargy sneaks through my veins and invades my limbs. “Killian—”

He raises his head. “Sleep now.” He sounds so far away.

“No,” I mumble. I've slept enough. Too much. But I'm unable to fight the need as I'm tugged closer and closer to a sea of nothingness.

“You drugged her?” Archer gasps out.

He did?
At the moment, anger is beyond me. I'm warm, deliciously warm, two strong bands wrapped around me as I drift...drift...

I'm not sure how much time passes before I hear a soft whisper in my ear.

“What am I going to do with you, Ten Lockwood?” Killian's voice.

I continue to drift without an anchor—

A sharp sting against my cheek. A bug bite? I want to brush my fingers over my face, but my arm refuses to cooperate. Another sting, this one sinking deeper, past skin. Tingles erupt in my shoulder as if the nerve endings are finally coming back to life.

“Wake up.” A third sting.

This time, my arms works properly and I grab—a wrist. My eyelids pop open, and I come face-to-face with Elena. I don't think, I just act, balling my free hand and throwing a punch. Her nose breaks, and she grunts. There's no blood. Right. The Shell. No lasting damage for her.

As I release her and sit up, she readjusts her nose with a hiss. I take stock. I'm in another palatial tent, the scarves surrounding me a vibrant shade of purple. The pillows scattered about are cobalt. There's a tub, but it's empty. In the center, glowing stones are stacked next to a tray of half-eaten fruit and crumpled candy-bar wrappers. More chocolate meant for me...that this girl has obviously eaten.

I'll do as I told her during our first meeting and go through her ribs. I'll—

Do nothing. I wouldn't touch Killian's chocolate with a ten-foot pole. It's a bribe for my forgiveness, nothing more. But...then I see one of the wrappers isn't completely empty and make a dive for it. Okay, okay. While I wouldn't touch the chocolate with a ten-foot pole, I will touch it with my fingers.

I stuff the goodness into my mouth and savor.

Kissed me simply to drug me.
Anger ignites.
Not forgiven, Killian Flynn. Not forgiven!

“Where's Killian?” I ask.

“He was called away on Myriad business.” She smirks at me. “Right now,
I'm
in charge of your care.”

Killian's attempt to look out for me, as promised, even though he's not here, won't soften me. “I can take care of myself.”

“Says everyone ever. But it's only pride talking, so I never listen. Pride is a nasty bitch.”

“So is greed. And gluttony.” I arch a brow at her.

“Actually, I threw the pieces outside.”

Spite
is a nasty bitch. “You don't like me,” I say. “Noted. The feeling is mutual. You can go now.”

“I take orders only from Killian, and even then it's iffy.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “He told me to watch over you, so I'll watch over you. I'm guessing you're a flight risk.”

She isn't wrong.

I stand, grunting as sore muscles and bruised bones protest. I explore the tent, cataloging exits, searching for weapons, and find a small room sectioned off from the rest of the tent by red scarves. Inside is a temporary bathroom: portable toilet, rags, a mirror, a toothbrush and a hairbrush, a bowl of water and a calendar that leans against the mirror.

Curious, I reach for it. A blue light appears in the glass. Not just a light but words. A note from Killian.

Stick around, and I'll allow you to punish me. Leave, and I'll do the punishing. Yours, K.

PS: I wasn't sure what you loved so much about the calendar Vans took from you, but I wanted you to have a new one.

Nothing he does or says right now should please me, but I
am
softening. This boy...oh, this boy. He's a wealth of contradictions.

I hug the calendar to my chest then brush my teeth and hair and use the water to wash up.

“You done in there?” Elena calls. “Or are you constipated?”

Nice.

I hide the toothbrush in the waist of my shorts and leave the relative privacy of the bathroom to find her seated and sharpening a dagger with a stone. An attempt to intimidate me, I'm sure.

“About time.” She doesn't glance in my direction, just keeps rubbing the stone over the blade. “You're filling Killian's head with foolish ideas and you need to stop.”

“Foolish ideas?”

“Yeah. How about this doozy?
Firstlife matters
. Oh! The ever-popular
work with your enemy, because he'll
never
stab you in the back
. And let's not forget my favorite.
Winning isn't everything
.” The rubbing stops for a moment, only to start up again—faster. “You're going to make a terrible General.”

“Agreed. That's one of myriad reasons I haven't turned in my application for employment.” I smirk at her. “Myriad. Get it?”

The gaze she levels on me is pure irritation.

Humor not appreciated. Noted. “Wow. Look at us.” I sit across from her, keeping the glowing stones between us. A buffer. I smile sweetly. “We're bonding. Practically sisters.”

Her motions grow choppy. “If Killian fails to sign you, he could be decommissioned. You get that, don't you?”

I go tense. “He told me he wouldn't be killed.”

“He lied.”

He wouldn't do that...would he? Unless this is
her
attempt to manipulate me?

“Though we have no idea who arranged your execution, Killian lobbied for you, convinced the Generals and even the King you were worth any risk. He just needed a little more time. But. Since he fought for your life, your fate will now decide his.”

A brief moment of dizziness, the confession rocking me. “When? When was all this decided?”

“After the plane crash, just before the car wreck.”

He bought me time—with his life. And yet someone is trying to kill me anyway.

I want to shake him. And kiss him, for real this time. But mostly I want to shake him. What am I supposed to do about my future now? I can't allow Killian to be harmed because of my decision.

“Maybe I'll kill you both,” Elena says, as if she's speaking to herself. “He'll Fuse with another soul and start over, and you'll suffer countless agonies in Many Ends until you die and start over, as well.”

Okay. She's gone too far, threatening Killian. I lean over the rocks—notice they don't burn—and slam the tip of the toothbrush behind her ear. While her Shell goes still, I claim her dagger and stride from the tent, only to grind to a halt.

The sun is once again in the process of setting, the sky ablaze with colors—and framing my parents' house, a three-story mansion that's sprawled over two acres of land. The house is box-shaped, taller in the center, shorter on the sides, with some walls made of glass, others of white stucco. Flowers of every color bloom along the edge, and orange and lemon trees offer sweet scents and shade. The grass at my feet is soft and green, as plush as carpet.

My stomach clenches. Home, but...not home. Everything is exactly as I remember it, my absence completely unnoticed. I don't belong here. Not anymore.

Killian must have driven through the night and then some to get here.

A bright beam of light explodes in front of me and when it fades, Killian is standing there. He's scowling, his dark hair unkempt. Dirt mars his clothing and there are tears in his shirt, revealing the ripple of muscle underneath. He's so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.

“Snake.” I throw a punch at his jaw, and it lands. On impact, his head whips to the side.

He masks his features as he faces me. “The end justified the means. You're home, as promised.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy the end, because my trust in you is destroyed. You tricked me!”

“For your own good.”

“And you tied your life to mine!”

His eyes narrow, his lashes fusing. “Elena has a big mouth.”

“Yours should have been bigger. You lied to me.”

He raises his chin. “I told you the truth at first, and it was clear you felt I was pressuring you further. I took the pressure off.”

So
. The boy who praised victory above everything else refused to use his ace against me. Argh! Now I'm even more torn.

“I don't want you killed,” I say, stomping my foot.

“That makes two of us.”

Archer and Deacon appear in beams of light to flank his sides. He swings around, two guns palmed, cocked and aimed. The Troikans merely smile in challenge, daring him to take a shot.

The muscles in his shoulders knot with tension, but in the end, he lowers the weapons.

Elena comes charging out of the tent. When she spots Archer and Deacon, she hisses.

Neither boy pays her the slightest bit of attention.

“I have news,” Archer says to me, dread heavy in his tone.

Everything else is forgotten. “Did my mother—”

“No. She's still alive. For now.” His eyes are grim. “But, Ten...while you were at the asylum...when she left your father and remained in seclusion, even refusing to come see you...she had a baby.”

What?
“No.” I shake my head. “My dad's mistress is going to have a baby. Not my mother.”

A secret...

Taught me how to be a mother again...

A baby crying...

“I didn't say she was
going to
have a baby.” Archer pins me with a look. “She
had
a baby. She carried and gave birth to your brother in secret a little over a month ago. Had anyone known, she would have been forced to give the child to a childless family.”

I reel, my mind trying to make sense of everything being thrown at me.
I have a brother...